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“The trauma was not that they were hurt, but that they were alone in the hurt.”
- Dr. Gabor Maté
“I’m having some problems with their signal,” Trip said as he tried to re-energise the away team once more.
“Keep trying,” came Archer’s voice over the comm system.
Hutchins materialised and staggered slightly before righting himself.
“You okay?” Trip said. Hutchins nodded, looking nauseous. “Get Phlox to check you out.”
He turned back to the controls. “Come on Malcolm,” he muttered under his breath. And then finally - “There we go.” The form flickered on the transporter pad before becoming completely solid, and for a moment Trip couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Then it clicked into place, and he blinked.
“Uh, Captain? Think you might want to come down here.”
He didn’t stay to hear Archer’s reply. Instead he stepped onto the transporter platform, carefully approaching the small boy who was standing there swamped by an oversized Starfleet-issue jumpsuit. The boy stayed unnaturally still, tracking Trip as he came closer.
“Malcolm?” Because of course this was Malcolm - dark hair and pale eyes aside, he wore the same intense, anxious expression. Trip knew that look well, could bring it about simply by teasing his friend, but seeing it on a child, especially one so young as this, was troubling.
“Remember me?” he said, kneeling down in front of him, but there was no response, just the same wide-eyed stare, and as he tried to roll up the sleeves of the jump suit so that Malcolm could at least have his hands free, he saw that Malcolm had started to cry, silently, and he sat back, disturbed, because this was a cry that was not meant to be heard, and because somewhere along the way Malcolm had learnt to cry like that.
But before he could say anything, the Captain entered.
“What...” The question died on Archer’s lips. “Is that Malcolm?”
“Seems to be,” Trip said, looking back at the child. “He hasn’t said anything. He’s kind of upset.”
“Let’s get him to sickbay.”
Trip knelt down again. “We’re gonna help you, okay?”, but Malcolm didn’t react and so Trip gathered him up as best he could in the bundle of clothes.
“What could have caused this?” Archer was asking as they walked, and Trip answered at random; the boy was leaning back, away from him, and he was half-afraid of dropping him.
When they got to sickbay Phlox was busy scanning Hutchins. “I’ll be with you in one moment gentlemen,” he said without looking up.
“Doctor,” Archer said, and Phlox did a double-take. “Ah.” And to Hutchins - “Wait here, crewman.”
“How is he?” Archer said, nodding at Hutchins. “Anything that would explain what’s happened to Malcolm?”
“No, he’s in perfect health,” Phlox said, eyeing the child attentively. “You’re sure this is Lieutenant Reed?”
“That’s for you to tell us.” Archer turned to Trip. “Get to work on those transporter logs, see if you can find out what happened. Get T’Pol to help you. Oh, and ask the quartermaster to send down some suitable clothing, would you?”
It was with a stab of guilty relief that Trip transferred Malcolm into Archer’s waiting arms. He found the whole situation unsettling; his friend’s silence, his refusal to even make eye contact, although at least the crying had stopped. He’d always been pretty comfortable around kids, but there was something about this boy’s behaviour that didn’t seem right, that hinted at something deeper. From what little Malcolm had told him about his childhood, Trip got the impression that it hadn’t been a particularly happy one, and now here was the evidence and he was helpless to do anything about it.
Archer
“I’ll need him out of that uniform if I’m to examine him properly,” said Phlox.
Archer looked down at Malcolm. The boy was rigid in his arms, leaning away as he had done with Trip. “Tell you what, doctor, why don’t you finish up with Mr. Hutchins first. We’re in no rush.”
Phlox nodded. “Very well.”
Archer took a seat on the nearest biobed, holding Malcolm on his lap. He could feel the child’s heartbeat hammering through the layers of uniform, and he bent down and said in his ear, “Malcolm, I’m Jon. I know it must be a little scary for you right now. But you can trust us. We’re not going to hurt you.” He kept his tone light, reassuring. “That’s Doctor Phlox. We’re in his sickbay, and those are all his animals. Over there is his Pyrithian bat.”
He continued to talk quietly, a soothing monologue, and gradually he felt Malcolm relax against him, though the boy still remained watchful.
“Anything?” Archer said as Phlox finished checking Hutchins.
Phlox shook his head. “Nothing untoward. As I said, he’s in perfect health.”
The clothes arrived just as Hutchins was on his way out. “Set them down here,” Archer told the quartermaster, patting the space beside him.
He waited until both crewmen had left, then he said to Malcolm, “Let’s get you changed into some clothes that fit.” He held up a T-shirt from the pile. Malcolm just stared at it. “I’ll give you a hand.” He undid the zipper on the jumpsuit and then eased the child out from the uniform. Over from his computer, Phlox raised his eyebrows.
“Not much to him, is there?”
Wordlessly Malcolm dressed himself as Archer laid out each item of clothing for him. He concentrated intently on his socks, frowning slightly as he put them on, and it was so similar to the expression that Malcolm wore sometimes at his tactical station that Archer couldn’t help but smile.
“Good job,” he said when the boy was fully dressed, but there was no response.
“Well then,” Phlox said pleasantly, “Let’s get started, shall we?”
“Doctor Phlox is going to have a quick look at you,” Archer told Malcolm, but again the child didn’t react; he just sat there on the biobed, hunched in on himself, staring at the floor.
“There’s no need to be present for this, Captain,” said Phlox, “I’ll let you know my findings.”
“All right...” But it worried him that Malcolm wasn’t putting up any sort of protest, that he wasn’t expecting him to stay - that he wasn’t even asking him to, as if he knew such an attempt would be futile.
So instead Archer said casually, “On second thoughts, I think I‘ll stick around,” lifting the boy onto his lap once again.
Malcolm was unnervingly compliant throughout the examination, and after a while he started stroking his arm, patting himself. Archer looked up at Phlox, dismayed. “Self-soothing behaviours are not uncommon in children of this age,” Phlox said in a low voice, watching Malcolm too, although he seemed unconvinced, pursing his lips, before continuing with the exam.
Archer wanted to put his hand over Malcolm’s to make him stop, but instead he hugged Malcolm closer, rubbing his arms, up and down, rocking him slightly, a half-remembered memory of his own father doing the same. Gradually Malcolm’s motions ceased, and by the time the examination was over he was nestling into Archer.
Phlox was peering at his console. Archer raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Well, doctor?”
“It’s definitely Lieutenant Reed.”
“How old do you think he is?”
“Hmm, I’d say four, according to the scans of his bones and teeth.”
He felt a small movement. Looking down, he saw that Malcolm was holding out four fingers. He placed his hand next to Malcolm’s, mirroring him. “Four. Are you four, Malcolm?” The boy nodded his head.
“How about your sister?”
The hand changed again to form a ‘one.’
“That’s pretty little. I bet she wakes you up at night when she cries.”
He wasn’t expecting a response, but to his surprise Malcolm said in a clear, high voice - “Actually - “
“Tucker to Captain Archer,” Trip’s voice interrupted over the comm system. “We need to get Malcolm to the transporter room immediately. I’ll fill you in later.”
Malcolm shrank back against him and Archer could feel the boy’s heart racing once more.
“What do you - “
“Sorry Captain, T’Pol says it’s gotta be now, otherwise we’ll lose the window.”
Suddenly there was a hiss and he felt the child go limp in his arms.
“Sedative,” Phlox said, holding up a hypospray. “He’s already under a great deal of stress. It’s probably easier for everyone if he were unconscious.”
“Good thinking,” he said automatically, against the rush of sadness as he gently released Malcolm’s grip from his sleeve.
The transporter room - the boy on the platform, a blanket to preserve his modesty - the child disappearing and the adult reappearing - Malcolm attempting to stand, stumbling as if inebriated - and then back to sickbay.
This time Archer let Trip go with them. He returned to his quarters, and he allowed Porthos to clamber into his lap, something he usually discouraged. He stroked him absently.
It should have been comforting, the knowledge that the child had grown up into an exemplary officer who was so obviously thriving in his position onboard Enterprise.
And yet he couldn’t help but feel an ache for the little boy he’d held in his arms, who had seemed so painfully alone.
“Phlox to Captain Archer,” came Phlox’s voice, interrupting his reverie. “I’m ready to discharge Lieutenant Reed. You wanted to see him before I release him?”
“Yes, thank you doctor. I’ll be right there.”
Sickbay, and Malcolm was standing there in his uniform, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
He greeted him with a smile. “How you feeling, Lieutenant?”
“Fine, thank you Captain.” Malcolm shot a quick look at Phlox who was hovering nearby and conceded, “perhaps a little tired.”
“That’s understandable. I want you to take the rest of the day off.”
A shadow of irritation crossed Malcolm’s face. “Aye sir.” As he moved to leave, Archer caught his arm and said, “do you remember anything about... what happened?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Malcolm shifted on his feet, uneasy. “I trust I didn’t cause too much trouble?”
“None at all,” he said, quick to reassure him. “If anything, it was the opposite.”
Malcolm tilted his head questioningly. “Sir?”
He hesitated, wondering how much to say. You didn’t seem like a particularly happy kid. But Malcolm never did well under direct questioning.
So instead he said, “You were no trouble at all,” and he patted him on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back with us, Lieutenant.” Malcolm’s features lightened at the contact, and Archer swallowed, because he’d never really noticed it before - or perhaps he had, and had never ascribed much significance to it.
“Get some rest.”
“Yes sir.”
As he watched him leave, he hoped that one day Malcolm might open up enough to tell him about his childhood, his relationship with his father. But it didn’t really matter. Because whatever it was that Malcolm had been lacking as a child, it seemed that perhaps, finally, he was finding it onboard Enterprise.
Finis